restore it; and he privily borrowed from Benedict the Jew forty marks at interest, and gave him a security sealed with a certain seal, which used to hang at the shrine of St. Edmund, wherewith the guilds and fraternities were wont to be sealed: this seal at last, but in no great haste, was broken by order of the Convent. Now when that debt had increased to one hundred pounds, the Jew came bearing the precept of our lord the King touching this debt of the Sacrist; and then it was that all that had been secret from the Abbot and the Convent was laid open. The Abbot waxed exceeding wroth, alleging that he possessed the privilege of our lord the Pope, giving him power of deposing William his Sacrist whensoever it pleased him. Howbeit, some one went to the Abbot, and excusing the Sacrist, he so wheedled the Abbot, that he permitted a security to be passed to Benedict the Jew for four hundred pounds, payable at the end of four years, to wit, for one hundred pounds which had then already accrued for interest, and also for another one hundred pounds which the same Jew had advanced to the Sacrist for the use of the Abbot. And the Sacrist, in full Chapter, undertook for the entire of that debt to be paid, the Abbot quietly putting up with the whole matter, and not even affixing his own seal, just as if that debt was no concern of his. But so it was, that at the end of the four years, there was not from whence that debt could be discharged; and then there was made a new security for eight hundred and fourscore pounds. Moreover, the same Jew had many other securities of smaller account, and one which was for fourteen years; so this debt alone came to one thousand and two hundred pounds, besides the interest that had accrued. Now R., the Almoner of our lord the King coming to us, signified to the lord Abbot that information had reached the King concerning such great debts; thereupon after consultation had between the Prior and a few others, the Almoner was conducted into the Chapter-house, where all of us being seated, and holding our peace, the Abbot said, "Look you, here is the King's Almoner, our and your lord and friend; who, moved purely by the love of God and of St. Edmund, has intimated to us that the King has heard something wrong of us and you, and particularly that the affairs

of the Church, both internally and externally, are badly governed; and therefore I desire and command, that, upon your vow of obedience, ye state and explain openly how things really are." Hereupon the Prior, standing up and speaking as one for all, said that the Church was in good order, and that discipline was strictly and religiously observed in-doors, and that matters out-of-doors were carefully and discreetly conducted, save some slight debt withal, in which ourselves, like our neighbours, were indebted: but that, in fact, there was no debt that could embarrass us. The Almoner hearing this, said he was rejoiced that he had heard the testimony of the Convent concerning this matter, that is, what the Prior had spoken. The very same words the Prior upon another occasion used, as did Master Geoffry of Constantine, speaking on behalf of, and excusing, the Abbot, when Richard the Archbishop, in his own right as Legate, visited our Chapter, before we had such exemption as we now enjoy. I myself, at that time a noviciate, on a convenient occasion, talked these things over with the master who instructed me in discipline, and to whose instructions I was committed, to wit, Master Sampson, the very same who afterwards became Abbot. "What is this," I said, "that I hear; that you should hold your tongue while you see and hear such things; you who are a cloistered Monk, and regardest not offices, and fearest God more than man?" But he answering said, "My son, the newly-burnt child dreads the fire; and so it is with me and with many others. Hugh, the Prior, had been lately deprived of his office, and sent into exile; Dennis, and Hugh, and Roger of Hingham, have but lately returned home from exile. Even I in like manner was imprisoned, and afterwards sent to Acre, because we spoke for the good of our Church, in opposition to the Abbot. This is the hour of darkness: this is the hour when flatterers rule and are believed, and their might is strengthened, and we cannot strive against it: these things must be borne with for a time. Let the Lord look upon it and judge.'

Now it bethought Hugh the Abbot, in the twenty-third year of his being Abbot, that he would go to St. Thomas, for the purpose of performing his devotions: he had nearly got

to the end of his journey on the morrow of the nativity of the blessed Mary, when, near Rochester, he most unhappily fell from his horse, so that his knee-pan was put out and lodged in the ham of his leg. The Physicians came about him, and sorely tormented him, but they healed him not. He was brought back to us in a horse-litter, and received with great concern and attention, as was most fitting. What more? His thigh mortified, and the disorder mounted to his heart, and the pain brought on a tertian fever, and on the fourth fit he expired, and rendered his soul to God on the morrow of St. Brice. Ere he was dead, everything was snatched away by his servants, so that nothing at all remained in the Abbot's house, except the stools and the tables, which could not be carried away. There was hardly left for the Abbot his coverlet and two quilts, old and torn, which some who had taken away the good ones had placed in their stead. There was not even a single article of a penny's worth that could be distributed among the poor for the good of his soul. The Sacrist said, it was not his business to have attended to this, alleging that he had furnished the expenditure of the Abbot and his household for one whole month; because neither the firmars who held the towns would give anything before the appointed time, nor would creditors advance anything, seeing he was sick even unto death. Luckily, the farmer of Palegrave furnished us with fifty shillings to be distributed among the poor, by reason that he entered upon the farm of Palegrave on that same day. But those very fifty shillings were afterwards again refunded to the King's Bailiffs, who demanded the whole farm-rent for the King's use.

CHRIST PRECIOUS TO THE BELIEVER IN DEATH. DYING work is solemn work. Death, to the view of sense, is a complete severance from all we know, and with whom we are connected, and a movement forward into a dark unknown. We leave all we know where shall we go? whom shall we meet? But to the true Christian all is changed. Death is the transition from obscurity to light. While he lives, he loves Christ in whom he believes, though

:

unseen he dies that he may go to Christ, and see him as he is. Christ is the joy of life; Christ will be his portion in eternity. In death, therefore, Christ, as belonging to the world of time, and the world of eternity, is his hope and support. Christ is with him in life; and death, so far from separating him from Christ, brings him to be with Christ for ever.

In October, 1842, the Rev. A. E. Wilson, of the American Board of Missions, died at Fishtown, Western Africa. His disorder was a prevailing dysentery. While sensible, his mind was solemnly composed. He said, "Well; the Lord is about to take down this tabernacle; but, blessed be God! we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.' For the last twelve hours before death, his mind wandered, and his speech was incoherent. An hour before he died, he was asked if he knew the different persons around him? He replied, "No, no, no!" The feelings of an eminent servant of God, in somewhat similar circumstances, were remembered, and he was asked, "Do you know the Saviour?" His countenance brightened up, and beamed with joy; and he at once replied, "Yes; dear, precious Saviour! I look to him." He spoke no more, and shortly after, his spirit took its flight.

MYTHOLOGY:

SOCRATES AND PHÆDRUS,

To the writer, some forty years ago, books and teaching were not so accessible as they are to young persons now. Το certain narrations, descriptions, and metamorphoses, he could attach no meaning whatever; except, in many cases, a very bad one. Time has since informed him that the sages and the poets of Heathenism were its great Ministers; and that they had two methods of teaching, as they had two great classes of persons to whom they sought to communicate information. Firstly, to the few, the initiated, the schools within, the mysteries were taught, not by disguised, but in plain, terms; though even here it would seem that the knowledge of God, or of the gods, was not taught as the foundation of worship, but as a matter of curiosity or of speculation. And as to morality, that was the mere law of manners: it had but little, if any,

reference to the state of the mind and heart, nor even to crime itself, if undetected. Secondly, to the multitude, generally fond of the marvellous, in the schools without, truth was more hidden than taught by and in the legends of mythology. This, it is said, contains the truth known to the ancients, whether of history, physics, or religion; and it is said to be rich in meaning. Many acts attributed to heathen deities are both vile and monstrous. Bourdaloue, in his sermon "sur l'impurité,” refers to these, and to the reasons for certain statements in connexion with them :

"Quand l'homme se laisse emporter à l'ambition, c'est un homme qui pèche, mais qui pèche en ange: pourquoi? parceque l'ambition est un peché tout spirituel. Quand il succombe à l'avarice et à la tentation de l'intérêt, c'est un homme qui pèche, mais qui pèche en homme, parceque l'avarice est un dérèglement de la convoitise qui ne convient qu'à l'homme. Mais quand il s'abandonne aux sales désirs de la chair, il pèche, et il pèche en bête, parcequ'il suit le mouvement d'une passion prédominante dans les bêtes...... C'est de la, remarque Clement Alexandrin, que les poëtes qui furent les théologiens du Paganisme, lorsqu'ils décrivoient les pratiques honteuse, et les infames commerces de leurs fausses divinités, ne les représentoient jamais dans leur forme naturelle, mais toujours déguisées et souvent métamorphosées en bétes. Pourquoi cela? Nous les blamons, dit ce Père, d'avoir ainsi déshonoré leur religion, et outragé la majesté de leurs dieux. Mais à la bien prendre. Ils en jugeoient mieux que nous; car ils vouloient nous dire par la, que les dieux prétendus n'avoient pú se porter à de telles extrémités sans le méconnoitre, et qu' en devenant adultères non seulement ils s'etoient dépouiller de l'être divin, mais qu'ils avoient même renoncé à l'être de l'homme.” *

* When man allows himself to be borne onwards by ambition, it is a man who sins, but he sins as an angel might sin; because ambition is altogether a movement of our spiritual nature. When he delivers himself to the power of interest or avarice, it is a man who sins, but he sins as a man; because avarice is one of those irregularities occasioned by the covetousness which only belongs to men. But when he abandons himself to the low desires of the flesh, he sins, and sins as a beast; because he follows the movements of passions merely animal. It is hence, as Clement of Alexandria has remarked, that the poets, who were the theologians of Paganism, when they described the unblushing and infamous practices of their false deities, never repre